DISCLAIMER - I DON'T OWN ANYTHING IN THE 'HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON' FRANCHISE
When Hiccup was younger, he rarely gave his mother much thought. He had no memories of her, nor did he dare to ask his father about her. He'd tried once, but the question had seemed to close Stoick off for the rest of the night, leaving an unspoken wall between them that Hiccup never attempted to break through again.
Sometimes, he would wonder what she might have been like. The few villagers who'd grown up with Valka would occasionally share stories, describing her life before Hiccup was born. Yet, as he grew older and took on the role of the village reject, even those tales of his mother faded into silence.
From what little he had heard; her life mirrored his in more ways than one. She hadn't wanted to fight unless she had no other choice. She'd always tried to make peace between man and dragon, fighting only when absolutely necessary. The only thing that had saved her from being labeled a complete disgrace was her marriage to the Chief. Despite her reluctance to embrace Viking ways, her role as Stoick's wife had demanded a certain respect from the villagers, whether they believed she'd earned it or not.
Her stature had also been a protective shield. Valka was taller and more imposing than most Vikings. She was a capable fighter, even if she approached violence reluctantly. In contrast, Hiccup had always been the runt of Berk, born early and growing up shorter, skinnier, and weaker than his peers. It became clearer with each passing year that he would never measure up to his father's strength or physical presence, nor would he be the commanding Chief his father was. His head was constantly filled with new ideas and devices—tools and gadgets that could do what his people believed only brute strength could achieve. Vikings valued hands and grit over invention, and he felt this divide deeply.
As Hiccup spent time with his mother, he learned more about her life on Berk as a young woman, and the ways she, too, had struggled. Valka had never been entirely happy there; she'd put on a façade, blending into the Viking way of life to avoid scorn, something Hiccup had always failed at. She'd managed to gain respect in ways he could never grasp, ways he didn't have the heart to pursue.
But Berk, even with all the heartache and hardship it had caused, was still home for him. Hiccup couldn't entirely sympathize with his mother's discomfort with the island; Berk was all he had ever known. Even after traveling far and wide, crossing seas and seeing lands he'd only dreamed of, Berk was where his heart lingered. No matter how far he ventured, that rocky, rugged island would always remain a part of him.
When Valka shared stories of how Stoick had courted her, they mostly passed through one ear and out the other. He wasn't particularly interested in hearing how his father had won her over, though it surprised him a little. It was hard to picture Stoick as anything remotely romantic, but he supposed love could surprise anyone, even his father.
Explaining his own life to her, however, was far from easy. Hiccup watched Valka struggle to hold back tears as he recounted the years of isolation, the sense of never quite fitting in, and his eventual departure from Berk. She would never consider herself a good mother—not even a halfway decent one. She hadn't been a factor in his life at all, yet she was still his mother, and she loved him with a fierceness that caught him off guard. Hearing about his ostracization as the Chief's son, the village's heir, was painful for her. But what seemed to hurt her most was hearing about the rift between him and Stoick, the gradual divide that had finally driven him to leave.
Valka had always believed that staying away would allow Hiccup a better chance at becoming the man Stoick envisioned, free from the influence of a mother who sympathized with dragons and questioned the ways of the tribe. She'd thought her presence would have been a hindrance, making life harder for him. It pained her to realize how wrong she'd been, her regret piling up as each story unfolded.
However, the happier moments came when they talked about dragons, especially the Night Fury that had changed Hiccup's life forever.
"You wouldn't believe it, Mom," Hiccup said with a grin, his eyes brightening at the memory. "When I first met him, he wouldn't even come within five feet of me unless I put my little knife down."
Hearing the word Mom made Valka's heart soar and ache at the same time. The simple address felt like a gift, a miracle she could never have expected. She silently thanked the gods for giving her this chance to know her son, even if he was already a grown man. It was better than she had ever hoped.
"Most dragons are naturally skittish," Valka nodded, her eyes gleaming with the knowledge she had gathered over decades. "Especially a dragon with a fresh wound."
Toothless, who had been resting his head on the smooth stone slab he'd dragged in as a makeshift bed, perked up at the mention of his early days with Hiccup. With a huff, he turned his head away, as if embarrassed by his old behavior, prompting a warm laugh from both Hiccup and Valka.
"Honestly, I half expected him to roast me with a plasma blast or just gobble me up whole," Hiccup chuckled, the memory bringing a familiar warmth.
Valka raised a teasing eyebrow. "Oh, don't tell me you actually believed dragons ate people."
"Can you blame me? I grew up with Gobber as one of my main adult influences," Hiccup retorted, feigning exasperation.
Valka threw her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, fair enough," she laughed. "He always did have a way of turning the smallest tales into epic sagas. Please tell me he hasn't been spinning the same Boneknapper stories?"
"Thor, do I wish he would give that old legend a rest," Hiccup groaned. "But they're just legends, right?"
Valka shook her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Oh, they're real, son. But I seriously doubt one's chasing Gobber of all people. One whiff of him, and they'd be rattling off in the opposite direction, tail tucked behind them."
They both laughed, Hiccup shaking his head as he tried to take in her words. "Well, you learn something new every day, I suppose. Boneknappers actually exist."
"See?" Valka smiled. "You're learning more about dragons already."
Hiccup's expression grew thoughtful, his eyes flickering with curiosity. "Say... would you happen to know anything more about Night Furies? I mean, more than what you've shown me so far?"
Valka sighed and shook her head. "Night Furies are among the rarest dragons I've ever encountered. When I was young, they used to attack Berk occasionally, but after I left, they stopped appearing. Toothless is the only one I've seen in at leastfifteen years."
Hiccup's heart sank at the thought. Night Furies had always been rare, but hearing that Toothless might be the last one filled him with a quiet sadness. He'd hoped to find a companion—or maybe even a mate—for Toothless. It pained him to think that it might not be possible.
"I'm sorry, son," Valka said gently, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"It's alright," Hiccup murmured, nodding slowly. "I guess I sort of expected that. It just hurts to hear it confirmed."
Valka smiled softly. "There are other subspecies of Furies out there."
Hiccup looked up, a spark of hope returning to his face. "Subspecies?"
Valka nodded, her expression brightening. "Night Furies aren't the only kind. There are other types of Furies, almost as rare, but they exist."
Toothless suddenly perked up, his pupils dilating with interest as he sidled closer, clearly intrigued.
"You hear that, bud?" Hiccup grinned, nudging the dragon. "You might be able to find some friends out there!"
Toothless warbled, his excitement palpable, and he nudged Valka, eager to know more.
"Alright, alright!" Valka laughed, gently nudging Toothless back. "The ones I've seen most recently are called Light Furies."
"Light Furies?" Hiccup repeated, leaning forward, his eyes wide with curiosity.
Valka smiled, nodding. "They're a subspecies, similar in size to Night Furies, but they're more suited for cold climates. I think, over time, a pack of Night Furies adapted to colder regions, evolving to blend in with snowy landscapes instead of dark skies."
"Are there any around here?" Hiccup asked eagerly.
"Not that I've seen," Valka replied. "But during my travels with Cloudjumper, I spotted a few. They're just as fast as Night Furies—one moment they're there, and the next, they're gone, like a shadow vanishing in daylight."
Hiccup deflated slightly, a soft sigh escaping him as he gave Toothless a weary smile. "This is still a good thing, bud," he said, rubbing his dragon's sleek, black head. The corners of his lips twitched upward, despite the weight of the situation still pressing on him. "We know they're out there. We've got a lead, and I promise you— we'll find one of them, at least. I swear it."
Toothless let out a soft warble, a sound that seemed to resonate with a mix of understanding and longing. In a sudden, exuberant gesture of appreciation, he lunged forward, knocking Hiccup flat on his back with a surprisingly strong thud.
Hiccup grunted, his breath leaving him in a surprised rush, but the sound quickly shifted into a strained laugh. "You really need to find a new way to thank me, you know that?" he groaned, pushing one hand against Toothless's massive, scaly side in an attempt to push the dragon off him.
Toothless, oblivious to Hiccup's struggles, simply let out a deep, rumbling purr and, thinking it a grand idea, draped his entire body across his human's chest.
Hiccup's eyes widened, the breath in his lungs forced out in a wheeze as he looked up at the sky, his face half-concealed beneath a layer of black scales. "Oh, great. This is even worse," he gasped, trying to wriggle his body beneath the weight of the dragon. "I'll never be able to breathe again at this rate. You've got to come up with a better way to show gratitude, buddy."
Toothless, however, was content. His tail swished happily behind him, brushing against the ground in soft, slow motions, while his massive head rested gently on Hiccup's chest, blocking out most of the world. For a moment, all that mattered was this quiet, peaceful connection.
But for Hiccup, the weight of his dragon was both a comfort and a curse. "Toothless," he wheezed again, though his voice softened. "I know you mean well, but I could use a little bit of air, here."
The dragon tilted his head slightly to one side, as though trying to understand the issue, but didn't move an inch. The slight pressure from his massive form was a small inconvenience when compared to the bigger picture, Hiccup knew. Still, he couldn't help but smile, even as he struggled beneath the weight. They'd always had moments like this—moments that seemed like nothing at all, but meant the world to him.
"A little help here, Mom?" Hiccup wheezed, struggling beneath Toothless's weight as he lay pinned to the ground. He had let enough time pass to make his dragon happy, but his lungs were beginning to ache for some relief.
Valka chuckled softly, watching the two with an amused smile. "Normally, I'd let Toothless have his way," she said with a smirk, "but it just so happens that lunch is right about now, and I don't think Toothless would forgive me if I let him miss it."
The instant the word lunch escaped her mouth, Toothless's ear flaps shot up, his entire body alert. With a delighted chirp, he hopped off Hiccup, his limbs stamping excitedly on the ground as though encouraging Hiccup to hurry up and follow.
"Oh, so all it took to get you off me was the promise of food?" Hiccup groaned as he got to his feet, brushing dust off his tunic and shooting Toothless a mock glare.
Toothless gave an indignant warble, as if to say he was merely doing what any self-respecting dragon would, then nudged Hiccup in the direction of Valka, clearly impatient.
The first time Valka had shown them how the dragons were fed, Hiccup hadn't expected the Bewilderbeast to be involved. Watching the massive dragon emerge from the icy depths had been awe-inspiring. With a powerful breath, the Bewilderbeast blasted streams of fish into the sky, launching a spectacular shower of glistening silver fish over the clearing.
It was a brilliantly efficient way to provide food for so many dragons, especially those less agile or with disabilities. Dragons scrambled eagerly beneath the cascade, some catching mouthfuls of fish mid-air while others retrieved food for friends unable to do so.
Toothless, on the other hand, seemed to relish the opportunity for a feast in the most chaotic way possible. He would dive-bomb through the shower of fish, his jaws snapping up anything that came near. Hiccup quickly realized this enthusiasm came with a price—getting pelted with cold, slimy fish from all directions. At first, it had been nothing short of annoying, but over time, he learned to duck at the right moments, though the lingering fishy smell was a challenge he hadn't quite conquered.
Today was no different. As they arrived at the feeding grounds, Hiccup sighed as he braced himself for another "fish rainstorm." Toothless wasted no time, leaping into the fray and catching fish left and right, seemingly oblivious to the havoc he was causing for Hiccup, who bobbed and weaved to avoid another barrage of scaly missiles.
Once the feeding was over and they returned to the cave, Hiccup felt a strange comfort, despite the lingering fishy scent that clung stubbornly to his clothes. He didn't need to worry about the village discovering Toothless's presence, nor did he have to plan where they would sleep next or how they'd survive the following day. There were no grand schemes for taking down monstrous dragons, no looming battles—just peace.
Later that day, Hiccup eagerly showed Valka the map he'd been working on, a compilation of his travels and explorations, lines carefully sketched with routes and landmarks he'd discovered along the way. Valka, impressed, pointed out some additional areas, places he hadn't ventured to yet. As she talked, she used her staff to etch lines in the snow, a surprisingly detailed map forming beneath her swift strokes.
Seeing this, Toothless, not one to be left out, trotted over, watching them closely with a gleam in his eye. After a few moments, he clamped onto a large icicle nearby and, with a flourish, attempted to draw his own 'map' on the snow. However, his grand show ended in a sticky situation; the icicle froze to his tongue, and he yanked back in surprise, letting out a muffled grunt.
Hiccup and Valka burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the quiet of the snowy clearing. Toothless gave an indignant snort but eventually joined in with a playful rumble, rolling his eyes at the humans' amusement.
These were the moments Hiccup savored most. Here, he could simply be himself without the weight of Berk's expectations pressing down on him. No villagers to impress, no battles to fight, no secrets to hide. It was as if the world around him had slowed down, and he could finally breathe freely.
Toothless seemed to feel similarly, though he wasn't always thrilled about the other dragons' constant presence. While he was mostly patient, the little hatchlings—full of boundless curiosity—had a way of testing that patience. They often tugged at his tail or poked at his wings, oblivious to his silent requests for solitude. Despite this, he'd grown accustomed to their antics, reluctantly playing along or, more often than not, escaping to Hiccup's side when he'd had enough.
All in all, this was probably as close to true happiness as Hiccup could get, he thought. He had his dragon, the closest thing he'd ever known to a brother. And now, he had his mother—a connection he'd never imagined he could have. There was a quiet sense of belonging here, a place in the world where he felt anchored.
But, as content as he was, Hiccup could feel something missing, a subtle ache beneath the surface that tugged at his heart in quieter moments. Berk. It lingered in the back of his mind, a place he couldn't entirely leave behind. He knew he had a place there, too, if only as the Chief's son, but leaving that part of his life behind had seemed like the only choice he had.
He took a deep breath, trying to push the thought away. He'd moved on. Berk would thrive with or without him, and he had to believe that. His mother had moved on, and he could too. This—here and now—was enough. It had to be.
At least, he told himself, I hope it is.